Page 97 of Wicche Hunt

“I know exactly who you are.” Fingers twitching at my side, I had spells locked and loaded. “Poor baby. The world has been so cruel to you, hasn’t it? A wealthy family, the best of everything. I can see how that kind of privilege would make you vengeful.”

His mouth opened and closed. I felt his shock, his disbelief.

“How will a superior individual, such as yourself, deal with prison? I mean, they’re the unwashed masses, right? The ones who have to follow laws and be punished when they break them. Not you, though, huh?”

Sneering, I added, “Maybe not too superior after all. Poor little Dorian needs a murder buddy, though. You pull Brandon in so you can plot and plan together, so you can build each other up and pretend you’re strong and important. Special. Brandon’s a weak-willed follower with sadistic tendencies you helped him uncover. You, though, are a true narcissist and psychopath. It’s more than youdeservingeverything you want, isn’t it? You believe it’s owed you.”

His hand went to his pocket. Face red, eyes murderous, he said, “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“Trust me, I do. And what brings me comfort is knowing when you finally shake off this mortal coil—you’ll get shivved in the prison cafeteria because you’re insufferable—you’re headed to Hell, a place I happen to know is real.”

On a wail of fury, he lunged, his thumb on the stopper of the syringe. I flicked my fingers and he froze as three little raccoons leapt and bit him, their sharp claws digging through his clothes.

Grinning, I leaned in. “How does it feel, being on the other side? Do you enjoy being at my mercy? Not being strong enough to overpower me? Not really even understanding what’s going on? You should get used to this feeling. You’re going to experience it a lot where you’re going.”

Sirens sounded in the distance and sweat broke out on Dorian’s forehead.

I whispered in his ear, “Pearl may be dead, but she’s in a good, loving place now. You, my young serial killer, will know nothing but pain for the rest of your days, and that brings me comfort.”

The sirens were getting close, so I moved back to where I’d been standing when I froze him. With a flick of my fingers, the cameras began recording again, and he completed his lunge. I spun out of his reach, turning and punching him in the back of the head. My hand may have hurt like hell, but Dad’s DNA helped me do it with enough force to knock him out.

“Okay, you three, hide. The cops are coming. And thank you!” They scampered off the porch and into the night.

When a cop car skidded to a halt, I stepped back from the sprawled figure.

The same cop who’d drawn his gun on me before did it again. I pointed at the unconscious man.

“It would be cool if you’d stop pointing your gun at me,” I said. “He’s the one with poison in a syringe who just attacked me.”

The cop kept his gun on me while he talked into the radio on his shoulder.

Thankfully, Hernández pulled up and slammed out of her car. “What the hell are you doing? You have a gun pointed at the victim, a woman who is a police consultant, while the serial killer hasn’t been cuffed and still has a weapon in his hand.”

Hernández couldn’t see it as she was walking up the steps to me, but the gun moved in her direction before he finally holstered it. She was asking me something, but I was focused on him. Lots of rage in that one. And fear. He hated to take orders from a *racial slur *gender slur.

When he moved back to his car, I turned to a concerned-looking Hernández. “He hates you,” I whispered.

She looked down at Dorian. “I’m not fond of him either.”

When she started to move away, I grabbed her elbow and pulled her back. “The cop. Don’t trust him. In fact, see if you can get him off the force. Someone like him, someone who only respects white men, shouldn’t have authority and a gun.”

She blinked and then looked over her shoulder.

“He’s filled with rage and righteous indignation, believing you and Osso leapfrogged over him, took his detective’s badge, because of your ethnicities.”

Her expression turned to stone. “Is that so?”

“He’s not that different from this one. The world owes him. He doesn’t look inward to question himself, only outward to blame everyone else. Because of that badge and gun, though, his petty grievances are worked out on the general public with impunity.” The cop looked back in our direction, and I tipped my head so my hair blocked his view of my mouth. “I mean it. You have to get that guy fired. Get someone higher up to check his record. They’re going to find more complaints than normal for a cop with his number of years on the job. Lots of little cruelties. That’s what he enjoys.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she said. “Tell me what happened here.”

I gave my head a quick shake, pushing Josh, the asshole cop out of my head. “Dorian showed up as I was coming out here to get the pizza.” I scanned the porch before remembering he’d put them on the railing. “Can I take these in now? Declan needs to eat.”

“Do they have anything to do with what happened here?”

I shook my head. “They were just something I was holding.” I grabbed the boxes and opened the door, finding a huge wolf. “Give me a minute,” I said to the detective. I closed the door quickly and the wolf knocked the boxes out of my hands, crowding me against the door, sniffing me furiously.

I petted the top of his head. “I’m fine. He never laid a finger on me. He’s human: no special powers, no unique protections. He never had a chance. Really, I’m fine.”

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